


hand in hand

by erraticgallagher



Category: Malcolm in the Middle
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 14:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18054530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticgallagher/pseuds/erraticgallagher
Summary: Reese Wilkerson and his fight to move on.





	hand in hand

**Author's Note:**

> hi, I have no idea if I’ll continue this but here we are. love love love reese and wanted to write something depressing, and I guess this was the product.

Everything’s going great for a few years.

 

He’s away from his family and finally has the chance to make something of himself without his mother climbing down his throat. It’s great here, really; he thinks it’s maybe where he was meant to end up. So, everything’s perfect, yeah, hasn’t even thought of his family in months. Hasn’t thought about his brothers, hasn’t even talked to his brothers in months, but he’s not worried about it. He’s got his own shit to deal with, and they’ve got theirs.

 

Malcolm thinks he might be happy for the first time in his life, and he’s got no idea what to do with himself. To be honest, he’s bored. He easily outranks everyone in his class, and his cynicism isn’t well received either. He feels like he’s in a snobbier version of high school, only the students are smarter and easier to piss off. He learned that early on.

 

-

 

 

He’s in the middle of a lecture when his phone starts buzzing. It vibrates loudly against his desk and he doesn’t look at the caller ID before it’s pocketed. Randall, a boy close in age, sneers in his direction and rolls his eyes. Sometimes Malcolm wishes Reese was around to put these kids in their place, but he’s afraid to bring his brother within a ten mile radius of this school. He thinks it would be similar to Satan stepping foot into church. Flames, flames, flames.

 

As his professor drones on and Malcolm zones out, his phone begins to pulsate against his leg. He ignores it and Randall shoots him another dirty look like the slimy little weasel he is.

 

“Wilkerson, is there a problem?”

 

Malcolm glances to his left and a brunette with blue eyes stares at him expectantly. He’s not sure, but he wants to say her name is Miranda. She’s spoken to him a few times but she reminds him so vividly of Cynthia that he’s not exactly eager to become friends.

 

He shakes his head in response and looks away before she can give him shit about anything else. Randall’s still glaring at him for whatever reason, and now he can feel Miranda’s eyes on him, but he reminds himself this is better than being at home. Better Miranda than his mother, better Randall than Reese.

 

Only that’s not true, but for the sake of argument he’ll force himself to believe otherwise.

 

When it’s late at night and he’s got a full bed to himself, he thinks of Dewey. His scrawny little brother who shared that godforsaken mattress with him for years upon years. Maybe he shares it with Jamie now. Malcolm really doesn’t know; the distance makes it easier to stop caring about the minor details.

 

His phone buzzes painfully against his thigh, successfully ripping him away from the minuscule nostalgia, and he yanks it out his pocket this time and groans. Dewey.

 

Three missed calls in the last ten minutes, two voicemails. Malcolm doesn’t care, can’t find it himself to give a shit about whatever it is that Dewey needs because doesn’t he know his older brother’s in class? Doesn’t Dewey have three other brothers he could turn to if necessary?

 

He wrestles with the idea of shutting his phone off period, but he knows he’ll get shit for it later so he tosses it into his bag and stands up. The professor likes him for some reason, maybe even enough to let him leave mid-class, but Malcolm shoots him an apologetic look regardless. Leave it to his family to fuck things up for him as per usual.

 

The sun is blinding as he pushes through the exit doors, eyes half closed as he makes his way to his apartment. It’s only a few minutes away, but he doesn’t want to have another fight over the phone in public.

 

His roommate Jesse isn’t there when he finally arrives, but it wouldn’t have made much difference if he was. Jesse’s been witness to far too many Wilkerson fights as is, even if he hasn’t met any of them aside from Malcolm in person.

 

The phone is hot in his hands as he redials Dewey, and he’s both sweaty and irritable.

 

“What?” He snaps into the speaker when he can tell his call’s been answered, “What do you want?”

 

“Malcolm,” Dewey’s voice is small, but Malcolm’s too flustered to notice.

 

“You know I was in the middle of class right? How many times do we need to have this discussion, Dewey? Did Mom put you up to this? I told you I’d call her when I was-.”

 

“You need to come home.”

 

Malcolm freezes. “What?”

 

“Something happened,” Dewey sounds like he’s struggling to maintain a steady voice, and this time Malcolm can hear it.

 

Something buried deep inside Malcolm begins to melt, and he’s positive it’s his heart. He’s suddenly nervous, anxious, and doesn’t want to ask the next question.

 

He asks anyway. “What happened?”

 

“Come home.”

 

Malcolm’s grip tightens around the phone and the thumping in his chest gets louder. “What happened Dewey?”

 

“Just come home, dammit! Please!”

 

Dewey hangs up and Malcolm’s left frozen on the spot, nerves crawling through his blood stream in a battle to eat him alive. He’s suddenly petrified, and that’s all it takes for him to start throwing his shit in a suitcase. He leaves a note for Jesse, letting him know he’s leaving and then he’s out the door.

 

 

;

 

Reese isn’t a dumb kid. By educational standards he’s far below average, but he’s not stupid. He knows when something’s off, knows to trust his instincts above all else. So when he sees Jamie walking into the middle of the street, sees a truck flying in his direction, he’s running off of pure instinct. He’s across the yard in seconds, is within inches of Jamie, but it’s not enough. The truck stops but it’s too late. It’s all too late.

 

 

 


End file.
